Morning arrived with a shiver, not just in the air, but in the bird songs. Their usual joyful symphony now held a faint, disquieting tremor. Allan woke to a day that already felt out of sync. Since arriving at Thomas's place, his world had been a blur of confusion. He stretched, fighting the lingering pull of sleep and the protest of his joints, then swung his legs out of bed.
The moment he stepped into the living room, he froze. A woman, her figure hunched and ancient, stood in the center of the room. Thomas was beside her, a smug, almost triumphant smile on his face, as if he held the key to a puzzle Allan couldn't even see. Canya watched them, wide-eyed from her seat. Thomas's other three children were still likely asleep.
"Allan, you're finally here." Thomas's smile widened. Allan nodded, acknowledging Canya with a glance. Unsure what to do, especially with the stranger present, he simply remained rooted in the doorway that led to the inner rooms.
"Allan, I am glad to finally set my eyes upon you," the old woman said, bowing slightly in a gesture that seemed both venerating and unsettling. "Word reached the High Priestess's ears that you were with Thomas. She sent me to right things before we lost you."
"High Priestess? I've never heard of such a person." Allan frowned, his confusion deepening.
"From Cursed Town, a place hidden deep within Saniya, the capital. We serve the gods of Woodland, and she is our head. I am Debora, a sister from Cursed Town."
The woman bowed again, piquing Allan's curiosity. But he knew there was a reason for her sudden appearance, and he needed answers. "Debora, I'm not here by choice, but I don't feel like I'm in trouble. Why would I be 'lost'?"
"You never realize you are getting lost until you are truly lost," Debora replied, her voice soft but firm. "You are on your way to a dead end. You are beginning to get lost; if you don't stop, we will lose you."
"You witch!" Thomas interjected, a sharp edge to his voice. "You're confusing the boy!"
Debora didn't even spare Thomas a glance. Her gaze fixed on Allan, she took a few steps closer, stopping about four feet from him. She sized him up, from his worn boots to the messy tangle of his hair, her concerned frown deepening the wrinkles on her face.
"What is troubling you, my boy?" she asked, her voice taking on a coarser, more resonant edge.
Allan hesitated. Was it her voice, or her unsettling presence? Something about this woman resonated with a hidden, troubled part of his spirit. His mouth parted, but no words came. "I—I don't know what's troubling me," he finally murmured. "Maybe nothing. Maybe everything."
Debora nodded solemnly, as if his vague answer confirmed a deep truth she already knew. She tilted her head, peering into his eyes as if attempting to peer into his very soul.
"You have been marked by a path you did not choose," she said quietly. "If you don't walk out of it, you will be finished. And we will all be."
Thomas scoffed from behind her. "Riddles, just riddles! The boy is here because of the prophecy!"
"Prophecy that you know nothing about," Debora countered calmly. "The gods moved your heart, Thomas Kent. You think you know what you're doing, but you are only walking in a dream spun long before you were born. We do not know why he is here, but we believe it must be important."
Thomas's face tightened with irritation. "I have no patience for this. Allan, go outside if you need to clear your head. Don't let this one fill it with nonsense."
But Allan didn't move. His eyes remained fixed on Debora, whose strange presence, paradoxically, offered a comfort Thomas never had. She turned slowly, her gaze drifting toward the door.
"Walk with me," she said to Allan. "Just a few minutes."
He glanced at Thomas, whose jaw was clenched, then at Canya, who gave a slight nod, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and wonder. Without another word, Allan followed Debora outside into the chilly morning air.
They walked in silence along a narrow footpath that wound toward the bordering trees. The wind was gentle, but carried a distinct bite, and the morning light cut softly through the thin mist still clinging to the grass.
After a long moment, Debora spoke. "Have you been dreaming lately, Allan?"
He stopped. "What?"
"I asked if you've had any dreams—vivid ones. Things that feel more real than dreams should."
Allan looked down at his feet, then slowly back up, a dawning realization on his face. "Yes," he said. "For months now. Sometimes the same one, other times different. But always with the same feeling: like I'm being pulled… toward something I don't understand."
Debora smiled faintly. "You're not going mad. You are being called."
"By what?"
"By who," she corrected gently. "Or rather, by many who speak with one voice. The ones who watched over your bloodline even before you knew yourself. The gods of Woodland do not choose lightly."
He shivered—not from the cold, but from the eerie familiarity of her words. "I never believed in any of that."
"And yet, you dream."
The wind shifted again, bringing with it the rich scent of damp earth and wildflowers. Debora bent slightly, her fingers brushing the petals of a bush with purple blossoms, as if greeting an old friend.
"You are at a turning point, Allan. Most people pass such points without knowing. But you… you are being warned."
He stepped closer, compelled by her words. "Warned about what?"
"That your life is not your own anymore. Not entirely. And if you ignore this, if you ignore her, you will fall."
"Her?" he echoed, his voice barely a whisper. "Who is her?"
She turned her face slowly toward him, her gaze intense. "The one who waits for you. The one whose fate is tangled in yours like roots under the earth. You may not know her name, but you will. Soon."
He swallowed hard, his throat tight. "Why me?"
"Because you were born under the cracked moon, the night the winds screamed through Saniya and the stars fled from the sky. Only children born on that night can bear the burden. And the gods have chosen you."
"What burden?"
"I don't know, Allan. That is for the High Priestess to tell you, or perhaps the prophets from Sharwalk."
Allan's heart pounded, a frantic rhythm against his ribs, but he remained silent, overwhelmed.
"Everything must begin from somewhere," she said softly. "Perhaps what Thomas is doing, using the prophecy in his own way, could be a blessing in disguise."
Allan turned away, trying to process it all. Everything she said felt too vast, too heavy to bear. And yet, deep inside, something stirred. A restless part of him, gnawing for months, finally felt… seen.
Debora reached out and placed a hand gently on Allan's shoulder. "Today, when the sun is directly above our heads, I will put you in a position where you will have to make a choice. When it happens, forces stronger than you can imagine will pull you in every direction. Remember the warning when that time comes. Go to Thomas and his daughter. I will come."
Then, she simply disappeared, leaving Allan alone and more confused than ever.